


Reminder: A Monster Can Not Be A Father

by Starshearted (cthulhucorp)



Series: That one Asura Redemption AU [3]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: ...my angsura, F/M, Im tired, M/M, i honestly dont know what to tag this as, i wanted to bask in angst, implied Asura/Vajra, its late, my asura angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 05:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10892592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulhucorp/pseuds/Starshearted
Summary: Daydreams are a wonderful thing.





	Reminder: A Monster Can Not Be A Father

Maybe there's a world where things didn't go wrong.

It's a midnight musing that comes to the kishins mind occasionally. When the whirr of the fans in his own bedroom, nor the cawing of birds and chirps of crickets outside his window, can keep him from his own thoughts. A mind out of focus, out of sight of the reality around him.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

 

Maybe, there is a world where Death did not break him beyond repair. No. There is no world like that, Asura concludes quickly. Death is the unchanging factor in all of this. The ever present, ever dissaproving mess of a man that despises his eldest son but loves the younger.

 

Death is always the same.

 

So what is the changing factor, then? It can be many things. Asura is a changing factor. Worlds in which he was not as bad as he could have been, worlds in which he didn't lead a congregation of witches to Death's hiding spot, worlds where he did not come into contact with the one witch who was cause for half of this mess. Arachne. Arachne is a changing factor. Worlds in which she was nicer, worls in which she taught Asura only how to use his powers, rather than to hate.

 

Vajra.

 

Vajra is a factor that is ever changing, but ever constant. A chime in the back of Asura's mind rings out the screech that Vajra had done nothing wrong, that Vajra did not need to change no matter the world nor the universe. Vajra was the embodiment of perfection, a visage similar to that little blonde albarn. Purity and pestilence all in one. All bravery and courage, scars and grins, sarcasm is a caramel voice that dared to dance even around the perilous edge of Death's patience. The only thing that changes with each twinge and tweak of Asura's illusionary daydream is the end in which Vajra meets. Vajra himself is not a changing facter, but rather the path Vajra follows. The path is shifted by Asura, shifted in turn by Arachne and that never changing constant of Death.

 

Some of his worlds do not have a beginning, nor do they have an end. Some daydreams, illusions, come from no where. The most absolute of alternative realities in which things that should be constant are not, factors that should change only a little change drastically. It's the daydreams, the worlds, like this that are Asura's favourites. It's prompted by something that is both great and terrifying;

 

The tiny child of Soul and Maka.

 

Soul is protective. Maka is even more so. This does not, however, stop the wife from attempting to introduce the child to the embodiment of the previous Deaths' fears. There's a mutual feeling established between the young kid and the much, much older kishin.

 

They are afraid.

 

There is a thought, however, that crawls into his mind. An illusion, an alternate reality daydream, that comes to him that night when he's at the grasp of insomnia.

 

What if he and Vajra had raised a child?

 

Asura laughed at the mere idea, at first. Any child of his would have turned out terrible, worse-off than Asura himself had been. Repears primarily reproduced by splitting their souls, as far as Asura was concerned. And though he was certain his soul had to have something else within it in order to function, Asura had nothing much to give. Nothing but fear; And in giving a child, a fragment of his soul, this fear... what would be left? Even if it were only a fraction, Asura would change.

 

He would be less afraid. He would be creating another one of himself. Nothing but fear. Asura decides, very quickly, that he would never do such a thing.

 

Not even the kishin would be that cruel; But that doesn't stop the idea from entertaining itself, running through his mind over and over again. Vajra and Asura and a child. A tiny, mishapen family. Through the course of the next few days, Asura finds himself watching. Soul and Maka come often, Kidd being an unnoficial god father of sorts. The kishin watches.

 

Soul watches, too. Hostile glances and glares, occasional staring between the two that rattles conversations. Both Kidd and Maka try their hardest to act as a distraction.

 

Asura admires Soul's protective instinct, despite the bell of self-hatred ringing in his head. Soul is a weapon. A death scythe. Since the age of 12, according to Kidd, he and Maka had sought out the monsters of the world and killed them accordingly. And then, they sought out Asura. And if reality were to be trusted, and the man that sat on the stairs of Gallows Manor was the real deal, the Kishin Asura was most certainly not dead.

 

A monster that had not been slain. A looming threat. It was only fitting for Soul to be protective, to be wary at the confused and blank stares of a previous enemy.

 

Later that night, Asura reminded himself of one unchanging constant:

 

_**A monster could never raise a child.** _

 

 

“What's your issue,” Evans hisses at him one day.

 

There is no Maka or Kidd to calm that boiling aggression. Asura forces himself to remain calm. Though the threat of the Kishin becoming angry is much overtaken by the threat of him breaking into tears, if the truth were to be spoken.

 

“What do you mean?” Asura squeaked, remaining seated on one of the middle steps of the stairs.

 

“I mean,” the man started again, eyes narrowed, “Why do you keep staring at my kid, you creep?”

 

“I'm not staring at your kid,” the kishin mumbled, giving a shrug of his shoulders.

 

“Then what the fuck are you staring at?”

 

“Just...” a pause. Asura glanced down at his hands, twitching nervously in his lap. “..You.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Not just _you_ ,” the kishin corrected himself quickly, casting a glance up at the Death Scythe. “I mean... just. _You_.. as a family.”

 

It does very little to calm the waves of anger. Soul crosses his arms. “..Why?”

 

Asura pauses once more, looking back to his hands. His fingers toy with the little ring around one of his fingers. The piece of jewelery that had once belong to his baby brother had been given as a sign of...

 

**..family. Trust.**

 

“You're all very cute together,” The black haired man mumbled, fidgeting nervously. “I'm... envious.”

 

Soul has no response, letting out a noise between a grunt and a huff, and continuing on upstairs for whatever reason he had. Asura continued to sit, moving only once Soul had made his way back down to his little family.

 


End file.
